Of fairytales and bloody dirt
by Drakulina
Summary: A collection of Peter/Lydia oneshots and drabbles.
1. My fairytale before the castle fell

_**You were my fairytale before the castle fell**_

He has plans for her, he tells her. He talks about how she's smart, a strong girl, calls her beautiful and drifts off into an inappropriately long description of how perfect her skin is.

_He's insane_, she thinks. _And so am I._

He doesn't look burnt at least, this time. She still shudders at the thought of his appearance, of the smell and how unnaturally hot his breath felt against her neck.

No, this time he's all about immaculate appearance, hair coiffed, lips twisted into an almost gentle smile as he traces her collar bone. She's come to try her best to ignore him, but he's always there, always promising, always wanting.

"I can't give you the bite, of course, but with my help you could be so much more, nobody would hold you back anymore."

He's standing behind her while she's staring into the mirror, mildly wondering if it's unusual that he has a reflection at all. He brushes her hair away from her neck and bends down to kiss her shoulder before biting down in an almost casual manner.

She has gotten used to him, but she flinches anyway, can't help but remember his open mouth, the sharp teeth, coming closer until there's just pain and she loses consciousness.

"Shh, it's okay." She can see his smile, can see his eyebrow quirk up just a little. "It's not in my interest to hurt you, Lydia. You have absolutely nothing to fear from me, my dear."

He starts rubbing his nose against her neck again, breathing deeply, when it tickles her in an entirely too pleasant way with the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. It feels like it's been forever since somebody touched her or talked to her. It feels like forever since somebody hasn't lied to her. She wants to believe him, she decides, because he's dangerous, but if he doesn't want to hurt her she's safe. Maybe.

"Anything you want, I'll give you." His hand has found her knee where it starts tracing patterns and suddenly there's claws slicing cleanly through her tights. "I could protect you."

Her desire to trust him is almost instantly gone. She wants to cry and wants to scream instead. _It's you II need protection from_, but nothing comes out of her mouth.

When she's quiet, he takes her chin between his fingers and turns her head so she faces him directly instead of searching her eyes through the mirror.

"If you won't answer me, I'm going to need a kiss instead." His head tilts in that funny way it always does when he's mocking her, but his expression changes to something more serious when he leans in.

His kiss feels almost exactly like that of his sixteen year old self, it's only his face that feels rougher, scratchier. She likes to think she's driven by want for this boy, who gave her a flower, this boy with whom she'd thought she could fall in love with, when she starts kissing him back.

Her hands are buried in his hair when he breaks free and looks entirely too pleased with himself.

"There's only one thing I need you to do for me first."


	2. Take a better look beyond a story book

_**Let's take a better look beyond a story book**_

She brings him back to life. When it comes to it, she doesn't even know what she's doing, she's just following his direction, but at the end the result it the same. His charred body starts twitching and then, suddenly he is gasping for breath. He starts healing not too much later.

Lydia doesn't know why she doesn't leave, why she doesn't just run. She should fear him; he's her nightmare, her attacker and so many worse things. He made her think something was wrong with her and made her doubt her own mind.

He looks at her with something akin to affection and it makes her knees go weak. It fills her with resentment for herself. He has done nothing to deserve those feelings for her and she starts wondering on whether she's addicted to being mistreated.

She doesn't know how it happened, but suddenly she's in the middle of a war. There are a lot of details she doesn't understand despite her realization that werewolves exist, that ghosts exist, that he's both. That he's been both.

* * *

He almost kills Derek Hale, who's his nephew.

Stiles comes to her, beyond himself and yells at her, how she could be on _his_ side, never understanding that she really isn't. She doesn't have a side in this, but sometimes she feels like Peter is the only one who's with her, on her own side. Sure, Stiles is infatuated with her, but when it comes down to it he didn't tell her anything, didn't come to her, didn't help her when she desperately needed someone.

Lydia is not stupid though. She has no illusions on how Peter would have given up anything to make her better or how he would become a better man through her, for her. He's the monster that brings her nightmares to life, he eats away at her, but at the same he's the only one who sees her as something more than the shallow popular girl and she realizes she wants that more than anything else.

She closes the door in Stiles' face with tears in her eyes.

* * *

They kill Jackson and she's never known so much pain.

It doesn't matter how badly he treated her, how much he scared her, he'll always be her first love and the first boy who gave her a key to his house so she could come to him whenever she wanted to or whenever she needed him.

It's not fair and she doesn't understand, except she does. He's a kanima, she's told, a shape shifter who is not a werewolf, but rather a giant lizard creature and he's being controlled by someone who makes him kill people.

On a purely mathematical level it makes sense to kill him to save the lives of numerous other people. On a purely emotional level she thinks she never wants to get out of bed again, or at least not until her life has returned back to normal.

He's there of course, almost curled around her, his hand softly stroking her stomach.

"It's alright Lydia", he whispers. "It's all perfectly alright. Loss only makes us stronger."

She cries then and there, but believes him anyway. What else does she have to believe in?

* * *

Sometimes he confides in her and Lydia almost wishes he didn't. His nightmares are almost worse than hers, yet he's almost too eager to share them. There's the fire, the panic and the screams. He tells her and watches her face change, watches how she feels for him and grieves for him, but he only smiles like he knows a secret that she doesn't.

Perhaps he does. Perhaps there doesn't need to be a secret. Perhaps there only needs to be her and this is a fairy tale and they have reached the gory, but happy end after they have cut open the wolf and Little Red Riding Hood lives happily ever after with her grandmother. Of course that is silly; any happy end that would involve him would have Little Red forever with the wolf.

She thinks she wouldn't mind so much.


	3. Untitled Drabble

_What is she going to do all broken and afraid and alone?_

When had it all started? (Why?)

When will it stop? (How?)

-

(Pretty girl.)

Lydia Martin has always known how to catch someone's eye. She struts and she smiles and she doesn't turn around and look back.

(Popular girl.)

People admire her, chase her and sometimes people hate her she supposes.

(Broken girl.)

Now he's chasing her too, smiles and licks his teeth in anticipation.

So many adjectives, so many words and none of them mean anything to the reflection of herself in the glowing red of his eyes.


	4. Dreams and Memories

_Written for four different prompts for a challenge_**  
**

**Dreams and Memories**

(Hurt)

It always starts the same. She's back on that field, confused, scared cold. She turns and screams Jackson's name even though she already knows he is not there when she sees _him_. She wants to run, desperately and yet her feet won't let her move from the spot while his silhouette is coming closer and closer and then it's all red eyes and teeth and agony while she hits the grass.

That's where the dreams start deviating from reality. When it had happened, she had blacked out and woken up in the hospital with people assuring her she's safe (a lie). In this world, she just chokes on the pain, not giving up, still trying to crawl away from him, but he won't let her. He's leaning over her, his face buried in her neck and she can feel his fingers moving over her side, tracing the wound he just left on her.

* * *

(Smile)

Suddenly she's in her bed, seemingly woken up from a nightmare, but Lydia knows better by now. It's never as simple.

It's quiet, the air is warm, but not hot and there's the soft glow of moon light on everything in her room. She's holding her breath while sitting up, not sure what will happen, but very aware that something will happen. Tears are welling in her eyes, because she can do nothing to stop it.

Slowly she gets up and when she moves the blanket away she sees it. The bite mark, the open wound is still there, her nightgown ripped in its place and even though it doesn't hurt this time it's still bleeding furiously.

She closes her eyes and tries to breath, but when she opens them he's right in front of her face, kneeling at her feet and smiling. He's always smiling at her, she thinks, but different smiles for different situations.

Sometimes it would be gentle, almost loving, while he plays with her hair and tells her terrifying little tales. Other times he doesn't care to hide the pure sadistic joy he gets from hurting her, his grin showing his teeth while he rakes his claws down her body.

She wishes he wouldn't, because it makes her feel like he still has a life of his own within her.

* * *

(Love)

His hands are on her when she snaps out of her thoughts and he's pressing her back, back into her own bed until she's lying on her back. He's sitting down beside her, softly tracing the outline of her ruined nightgown. A thread here and there hangs out, perfect to wrap around his finger, pull a little, tear a little until the hole gets bigger.

"I hope you can help me with something", he asks casually. "I just need you to answer a few questions for me, Lydia, nothing bad."

As if to contradict himself, he dips his fingers into her flesh where it's raw and bleeding, making her scream hoarsely at the sudden pain. "That is, if you can give me the answers I want."

She waits, then, crying openly now, for his questions, but he takes his time. His fingers, red with her blood wander over her thigh, not quite touching her before he lets them settle at the knee. Once more he smiles at her before he starts moving his hand again and when he lets go she can make out the word "love" on her skin, written in her own blood. He's staring down at the word, fascinated.

"I need you to tell me about you and Jackson. Do you love him?" It startles her. She wants to tell him no, she wants to tell him yes, but really she just wants to get away.

"I don't know", she whispers, barely getting it out. "I did once. Maybe…"

Relief waves over her when the answer seems to satisfy him.

"Do you think he still loves you?" He is wearing a curious look on his face, as if he legitimately cares, as if he won't just use the information against them all sooner or later.

By all accounts, all her memories of how Jackson had mistreated her, yelled at her, scared her, told her she was dead weight he needed to drop, she should say no, but that's not quite true either. She's just not sure how she knows.

"Yes he does. He loves me." It makes her feel a little better, so she clings to the knowledge as if it was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

* * *

(Final)

She knows she is alright when she wakes up, not in her old room, but her college dorm, the sunshine and voices of the people outside coming in through the window. As alright as you could be with nightmares like these haunting you.

Lydia takes a few moments to breathe and shake the memories of her dream. Already they are starting to get hazier, fleeting to the back of her mind, remerging with the memories from which they originated.

It would be alright, she tells herself again. She had left Beacon Hills behind her last year, going off to college and being her best self. She had started a new life and she would not let a few dreams destroy that for her.

Routines are important and hers had been perfected during the past few months: get up, shower, wash it all off, get dressed, put make up on, go to class.

Lydia is perfectly ready to leave her room, have a perfect day and ace all her classes, but when she opens the door there are flowers on the doorstep; pretty and blue and utterly too recognizable. Her entire body suddenly freezes up and she has to force herself to reach out with shaking hands, taking the card before leaping to conclusions.

_Happy Birthday. Peter._

She drops it as if she had been burnt and retreats back into her room. She slams the door shut. Tears are welling up in her eyes as the feeling of utter helplessness overcomes her.

In her need to leave her old life behind she'd forgotten her own birthday. And she had been naïve to think it would ever end.


End file.
